Conversation 16
by emily.down
Summary: Tom Riddle has a little chat with Minerva McGonagall in the library. Things get out of hand. R&R.


_right, so this one starts off normal, but it gets pretty weird later on, so hope you can swallow that._

_enjoy:)_

* * *

Now we'll leave the silver city

'cause all the silver girls

Gave us black dreams

Leave the silver city to all the silver girls

Everything means everything

I was afraid, I'd eat your brains

I was afraid, I'd eat your brains

'Cause I'm evil

'Cause I'm evil

'Cause I'm evil

_The National - Conversation 16  
_

* * *

"Don't think it won't get to you too, this small life. It will. It always happens to those above average."

Minerva felt the books vibrating on the desk. The little scratch behind her eyes, hidden in the orbit. There it was. And it was getting worse and worse, spreading like a disease across her forehead, seeping into her brain, turning the grey matter into black juice, streaming out of her ears, evaporating into the air, mingling with the scent of old nights and young children.

"Well, above average is not much, mind you. But you're not a simpering fool," Riddle added, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

She remained quiet, curious to see what else he'd say. The thumping wouldn't let her speak anyway. Thumping away beneath the skin.

"Do you know what fear is?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "It's not suddenly grasping your inevitable death. It's realizing that you're going to die like the rest of them. A mindless, mean little creature."

Minerva kept twisting the quill in her hands, wondering who he saw as mindless, mean little creatures.

"Because they'll make you one of them, Minerva. They will, if you keep associating with them."

The mention of her name managed to snap her out of her trance.

"Who should I associate with, then? Who should I _die_ with?" she asked stiffly. "You? Is that what you're telling me?"

Riddle smiled gallantly and swept the desk with his arm. "No, Minerva, with me, you wouldn't have to die in the first place."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, which only increased the discomfort behind her eyes.

"Don't use my name like we are more than just distant acquaintances. And don't you have other people for this sort of thing? Or are you in charge of drafting?"

Riddle, much to her surprise, did not even flinch. The brilliant smile remained intact. Only his jaw trembled slightly.

"Normally, no, but I wanted to do this in person, _McGonagall_. Someone like you requires a bigger push."

Minerva almost chuckled. "Oh, really? Well you're doing a fine job of persuading me already. Two more philosophical statements about death and I'll be eating right out of your palm."

Riddle laughed.

"I know you will. After all, Dumbledore isn't doing things any differently, and you seem to be half in love with him."

At the mention of Dumbledore's name she almost dropped her quill.

"In love?!" she echoed, scandalized. "What kind of nonsense is that? How dare you -"

"Oh, spare me, McGonagall. You obviously need no additional tutoring in Transfiguration. You've developed an unhealthy passion for the man."

Minerva went bright red from anger.

"I _do_ need additional tutoring in Transfiguration because I intend to teach it, you prat! And I'll be damned if someone like _you_ starts judging _me_."

"Oh, right, of course. I forgot about that. You want to teach Transfiguration because then you would be answering directly to Dumbledore. You would remain at Hogwarts under his wing and be with him constantly. Then one thing would lead to another..."

The thumping increased. Thousands of feet treading on her nerves mercilessly, making them break into pieces and the shards sinking into the soft folds.

But she was a bit of a masochist.

"Sour grapes, Riddle. Sour grapes and you know it."

He inhaled sharply and his nostrils flared dangerously. But his expression still preserved a touch of amusement.

Oh, how intriguing she was! Bursting angrily one moment and retorting calmly the next. He had seen her in class, with the Gryffindors. The way her anger shook every atom of her being, the way others shrank and cowered, the way peace was restored and the way she elegantly pushed her hair back and smiled appeasingly.

"Me? Jealous of your little affair?" he scoffed.

"Oh, it's so obvious it's almost embarrassing. He doesn't trust you or like you, unlike every other "simpering fool", as you put it. I'm sure it drives you wild. It would be your crowning victory, to snatch his protegee from him."

Riddle blinked in astonishment.

"Oh, come on, we both know that even if you got me to join your little club I'd be against everything you stood for. You just want me because I'm Dumbledore's."

Riddle's mouth pressed into a hard line. She really did not bother with euphemisms.

"You're more than just his plaything, _Minerva_. Or you could be. You could surpass him. You could become your own person. Not constantly standing in his shadow."

Minerva clenched her fists under the table.

"What a petty thing to say! His shadow!" she burst out again. "If anything, you're - you're the one seeking to surpass him!"

Sometimes he wondered who had built her so rough, so contradictory. Rise and fall.

"I don't have to surpass him, Minerva. I wish to be _different_. We all wish to be different. I'm sure you want nothing else. It's why you started playing Quidditch, even though you couldn't stand it. It's why you refused the Head Girl badge."

Minerva's face fell into composure once more, anger beating back and forth like a violent wave in her orbit.

"Believe it or not, my actions are more than the sum of some histrionic impulses. You're trying to peg me as someone, someone - "

"Someone like me," he finished for her.

"Well, yes. And it's a very daft thing to do. In fact, it was very stupid of you to approach from the beginning. If you think we're so alike, then you know you have no reason to be here."

"Actually -"

"Would you ever let _me_ persuade _you_ into anything?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow.

Riddle stopped and considered her question. His silence was more telling than words.

"I thought so. Let's just forget we ever had a proper conversation and just go back to anonymity, shall we?"

She got up abruptly and started stuffing her notebooks into her bag, not too fast, not too slow, just quick enough for him to realize she was about to lose her temper very soon if he continued testing her.

"Does it hurt badly?" he asked, lifting his forehead innocently. A blue shadow crossed his temples.

Minerva's hand paused on the clasp of her bag.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"Your head. Does it hurt badly?"

She furrowed her eyebrows but remained silent, weighing her words carefully.

"Why-"

"Is it the usual migraine, then?"

Her eyes travelled from her bag to his face and then the floor, trying to find a familiar element.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Minerva saw the nail being hammered in at the back of her head.

"Some days you can't control it. Some days you wish you could ...make it stop altogether."

"But you don't," Riddle continued smoothly, "because that would mean shutting down everything. And then what would you be, without that big mind of yours?"

He got up and walked the short distance to her seat, blocking her path.

"You see, you would be like everyone else. _Just_ like everyone else. And what did I tell you, Minerva? Your greatest fear, our greatest fear is not death."

"I don't know what you're implying -"

"Not a love affair, of course. No, there's no such thing between you and Dumbledore. I know as much. It's only a distraction. You are seeing him because he's trying to help you master it, isn't he?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to put on a very amused face, a face that couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"But it's probably not working. You're - ah, you're blaming yourself for it, aren't you?"

Minerva shook her head, letting the waves break into themselves and the anger turn into foam. Hot and soft and white and -

"For the Chamber, that is. Oh, of course you don't think you're really the Heir of Slytherin. Not a Gryffindor bona-fide like you. But you have doubts. Searing doubts. You might've helped. You might've hurt. You might've killed. You might be -"

"Shut up! Shut up!" she bellowed, moving away from him. "That was two years ago! You're being absurd -"

"But I'm not, you see. Dumbledore's the one being absurd, thinking he can mould you, change you, _improve_ you. You don't need improvement, Minerva! There is nothing wrong with you. You are a force. I saw it from the start. And you are letting that mad fool kill the very part of you that could save you from perdition."

By now he had almost backed her into the wall.

"And for what? So he can take advantage of it as he sees fit? So he can turn you into a faithful little pup? A mean little creature. That's what you are to him, that is what you will become. Look at Hagrid, if you don't believe me."

"What about him?" Minerva asked, lost in the trance of his words.

"He's another one of Dumbledore's proteges, isn't he? And yet, one of the greatest wizards of our time can't be bothered to see the potential in a half-giant. He treats him like a servant. He has put him in a cage for the world to look at. And he will do the same to you. You will be more pliant, though. You're already in the cage. You just need an audience."

"You're lying, you're only saying these things to make me think -"

"To make you think! Yes, that's it, Minerva! I'm making you think, aren't I?" he asked, smirking. "And it hurts, because you've never thought of this before."

"Yes, I have! I have thought of everything! And I have made my own judgements and I do not need your empty lies -" she began precipitately.

"Then hear the truth. You are stagnating. You will lose your lustre. You will fade into the background. He will stifle all that is brilliant in you. _I_ am the only one who can help you. _I_ am the only one who will understand you. I can set you free. You know this. You know this because he has locked you. He has locked _it_. Whereas I would never stand between you and your...true form."

Minerva paled. Her true form. Her true form.

She pushed past him blindly, knocking him into the shelves in the process, leaving her bag behind, leaving the library behind, leaving Hogwarts behind, running out the doors, running faster and faster towards the woods, going past the hut, turning, shifting, metamorphosing.

She sprinted faster and faster through the Dark Forest, her feline form taking charge, bringing out those gleaming yellow eyes, those sharp claws, that black juice.

Her true form.


End file.
